Just Like Fire
by closeto30
Summary: "What does it feel like?" she asked. "Like fire is ripping through you," he murmured, lifting his gaze so that his eyes met hers. "It burns, and then it's like all of the oxygen's been sucked out of the room, and you can't catch your breath no matter how hard you try."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Now before anyone gets carried away, I have noticed that (and pretty much loved all of them) there's quite a few stories floating around that either start or revolve around Fisher and Camille working out/boxing. I'm not trying to rip anyone off - clearly we've all picked up on the fact that this is how our favourite couple bonds.**

 **I don't own Stitchers or the characters, but the love for both is strong!**

* * *

He desperately wanted to touch her. More specifically, at that moment, he wanted to push her hair off of her face. The obstinate girl in front of him refused to tie back her bangs, and she was now blowing strands of hair out of her eyes before every punch she aimed at the swinging bag before her. Clenching his teeth together, Detective Quincy Fisher balled his fingers into a fist to stop himself from reaching out. He had to settle for watching her closely, which after a moment earned him an eyebrow raise.

"You're staring, Fishy," Camille Engelson quipped, flicking her head quickly to the side.

"You're not torquing, woman," Fisher quickly growled back, and Camille bared her teeth at him before throwing another punch at the bag. Fisher braced himself against the bag to give Camille maximum resistance, and took the opportunity to study the young woman in front of him. Truth was, Camille's technique had improved exponentially, to the point where she really didn't need training anymore. Fisher appreciated, however, that the feisty brunette had come to see his garage space as some form of sanctuary, and she seemed to always be happy to have him nearby, so if ever she turned up, they trained. As a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Camille's face, Fisher felt his fingers twitch again, and he furrowed his brow slightly at the involuntary movement. He'd grown very fond of the grad student, which given their short history, still left him slightly befuddled. Fisher had of course noticed Camille from the very start of his interaction with Kirsten Clark and the Stitchers program, but he'd been so focused on the Ed Clark murder case that she'd been little more than (admittedly quite loud) background noise. When he woke up in hospital after the restaurant shooting, Fisher had been more than a little surprised when Camille's face was the first he laid eyes on, a feeling which continued when the detective learned that she'd barely left his bedside the whole time he'd been out. He supposed that was when his fondness for her really started to grow; after all, it was pretty hard not to develop some affection for the person who had practically kept a bedside vigil for him. Fisher had suspected at first that Camille's request for him to teach her how to box had been a cover for her to check on him while he recovered, but she'd shown up persistently and together they'd developed not only Camille's technique, but a genuine rapport. When it wasn't directed squarely at him, Fisher found Camille's smart mouth highly amusing, but he also recognised that her carefully constructed sarcasm was a wall that protected her vulnerability and big heart. Camille experienced the whole spectrum of emotion fiercely, and having closed himself off from any kind of feeling for so long, Fisher suddenly found himself drawn to her passionate intensity. He supposed this sudden exposure of emotion was what was driving his twitching urge to touch her. Of course, the fact that Camille's workout gear was getting tighter and skimpier every time she turned up in his garage probably wasn't helping matters either. Swallowing hard, Fisher realised with a start that the punching bag had gone loose in his arms. Shaking himself out of his daydream, Fisher blinked at the image of Camille bending to retrieve her water bottle from the floor beside his beat-up recliner.

"What are you doing?" he asked dumbly, and Camille's lips twitched into an amused grin before she took a sip of her water.

"We've been at this for over an hour," she commented dryly. "I dunno about you, Fisher, but I am dunzo."

Glancing over her head at the clock mounted on the wall, Fisher had to concede that the brunette had a point.

"I should probably head home," Camille stated, tucking her bangs behind her ear, just like Fisher had been aching to do all night. He choked back an involuntary whine at the motion, clearing his throat instead.

"Did you maybe wanna stay for dinner?" he asked gruffly, and Camille cocked her head in surprise.

"You cook, Fish?" she asked incredulously, one eyebrow raised, and Fisher curled his lip at her disbelief before shrugging in defeat.

"I order a mean pizza," he conceded, and Camille let out a throaty chuckle as she wrapped her small towel around the back of her neck.

"All right, you sold me," she laughed, and Fisher felt his heart skip a beat as she stepped towards him, but he quickly realised that she was headed towards the door that led to the house. Swiftly turning on his heel, Fisher swung the door open so that Camille could walk through ahead of him.

"Such a gentleman," Camille drawled, and Fisher grunted at her in reply. They found themselves standing awkwardly in the middle of Fisher's small kitchen, and Camille cleared her throat uneasily.

"Fish, I hate to ask, but if I'm gonna stay, I should probably shower, because I do not smell good right now," she said. "Do ya mind?"

Fisher's whole body went rigid, and he fought to keep his face neutral as his imagination suddenly went into overdrive.

"Sure," he stammered out. "Bathroom's through my bedroom, end of the hall."

Camille tugged uncomfortably on the strap of her sports bra.

"Here's the thing," she mumbled. "I didn't exactly come prepared to stay. You don't happen to have anything I can change into?"

Fisher blinked at her for a moment, and then his lips twitched into a half-hearted smile, and he cocked his head towards the bedroom.

"Follow me," he murmured, and Camille gave him an intrigued look as she followed him down the hallway. She hovered in the doorway as Fisher entered his bedroom and slid open the wardrobe door, disappearing for a minute before emerging with a small pile of clothes that he held out hesitantly. Camille dubiously held up the pair of denim cut-offs she'd been offered.

"This your weekend wardrobe, Fishy?" she cracked, an amused grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Fisher narrowed his eyes at her.

"Elizabeth packed in kind of a hurry," he muttered, watching as Camille's face softened in realisation.

"Fish," she murmured gently, but the detective cut her off with a quick shake of his head.

"I'll leave you to it," he said, slipping past her and closing the door behind himself. Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, Fisher shuffled down the hallway and rang in his pizza order. He cleared the living room of empty food wrappers and dirty clothes, and had just cracked open a beer after paying the pizza delivery guy when Camille emerged from the bathroom and paused at the hallway entry. Fisher promptly choked on the swig of beer he'd just taken, and Camille took a hesitant step back. Elizabeth's denim cut-offs fit Camille more perfectly than they'd ever fit their original owner, emphasising her curves and displaying long and toned legs. Camille twisted a lock of her towel-tousled hair around her finger as she gave Fisher an unsure look. In that moment, Fisher desperately wanted his fingers to be in place of hers.

"The shirt you gave me was obscenely tight," she explained, "so I borrowed this one. I hope you don't mind."

Still coughing, Fisher shook his head emphatically. Camille had paired her shorts with one of his business shirts, rolling up the sleeves and tying the loose front ends in a knot at her midriff. With her still damp hair tumbling over one shoulder, she looked like something out of Fisher's most secret fantasies, and it wasn't just the inhaled beer that was making him short of breath. Clearing his throat, Fisher slid onto the floor next to the coffee table, and Camille padded gently across the room, picking up the second bottle of beer Fisher had placed on the table before she folded her legs under herself as she took a seat on the couch. She leaned forward to flip open the pizza box, and a grin spread across her features.

"Pepperoni and mushroom," she crooned appreciatively. "Fishy, you've been paying attention."

Fisher took another sip of his beer to hide the blush that bloomed on his cheeks. Camille uncapped her own beer before helping herself to a slice of pizza. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Fisher waited a moment before he took his own slice. The pair ate and then chatted softly between themselves, Camille settling further down in her seat as Fisher fetched another round of beers and then sat on the floor in front of the couch. He could have run a hand up Camille's toned calf if he really wanted to, and God knew he really wanted to, but he restrained himself and instead settled for watching as the brunette balanced her beer bottle between her knees while she scraped her hair back into a messy ponytail. Forcing a smile, Fisher continued the story he'd been telling before the kitchen break, filling Camille in on his early days with the force, and a particularly undignified moment where he'd tripped over his own feet and fallen down a flight of stairs. Camille was giggling as she brought her beer to her lips, her nose wrinkling in the completely adorable way that it always did when she laughed, and Fisher pointed to the thin scar on his chin that cut through his stubble.

"First of many scars this job has given me," he commented, and Camille lowered her beer bottle to the floor as her chuckles faded away.

"Not quite as impressive as your most recent scars," she murmured softly, biting down on her lower lip. Fisher glanced down, and without hesitation reached up to tug his shirt over his head, revealing the puckered pink scar tissue that indicated exactly where he'd taken two slugs to the chest.

"Definitely not as impressive," he conceded, knots forming in his stomach as he thought back to that night. Camille leaned forward.

"What does it feel like?" she asked, her whisper only audible because suddenly her face was only inches from Fisher's. Fisher felt his heartbeat speed up considerably at her closeness.

"Being shot?" he rasped, and Camille nodded. Fisher swallowed hard as he thought back to that night.

"Like fire is ripping through you," he murmured, lifting his gaze so that his eyes met hers. "It burns, and then it's like all of the oxygen's been sucked out of the room, and you can't catch your breath no matter how hard you try."

Camille reached out a hand and rested her fingertips on one of Fisher's scars.

"Kind of like right now?" she whispered, the tip of her nose barely brushing against Fisher's. His heart pounding, Fisher wetted his lips as he inhaled Camille's shower-clean scent.

"Kind of exactly like right now," he whispered back, leaning even further forward, and then suddenly recoiling when a piercing ringtone cut through the room. Camille swore under her breath as she scrabbled to her feet and dashed for the ringing cell that she'd left on the sideboard with her keys.

"Damn it, Linus," she snapped angrily before answering the call.

"What?" she spat, and then started pacing the room. Sinking back against the couch, Fisher exhaled shakily as he tried to bring his heart rate down, but his all of his neurons were firing and his nerve endings felt like they were shorting out. Watching Camille walk in circles in front of him as she talked, Fisher ran a hand through his hair and wondered if what had just happened was all some sort of crazy hallucination brought on by a lack of connection with any woman since his wife had left, but the frustrated look on Camille's face as she ended her phone call told him it definitely was not the case.

"I gotta go," Camille mumbled, huffing out a heavy sigh as she looked everywhere except directly at Fisher. "There's drama going down at my house."

"Anything you need help with?" Fisher asked cautiously, placing his empty beer bottle on the coffee table as he pushed himself to his feet. Camille waved a hand around dismissively as she gathered her belongings, wadding her dirty workout clothing into a ball as she jammed her feet into her running shoes.

"Not work stuff," she commented wryly. "Kirsten and Goodkin are having a thing."

Fisher couldn't help but think that he and Camille had just had a thing of their own very rudely interrupted. He watched as Camille made a beeline for the front door, where she paused with her hand on the doorknob and glanced down at her attire. She swore under her breath and gave Fisher a pained look.

"I'll wash these, and return them when they're clean," she offered. Fisher gave her a half-hearted grin as he shook his head.

"Keep 'em," he murmured, running his hand through his hair. He watched Camille's eyes follow the movement of his hand, and he swore he saw a look of longing cross her face. She swallowed loudly.

"Thanks for the pizza," she offered, turning the knob of the door and letting the cool night air in.

"Drive safely," Fisher said in reply. Camille lingered for a moment, and she opened her mouth as if she was going to speak again, but clearly changed her mind and gave Fisher a tight-lipped smile as she slipped out of the door, pulling it closed behind her. Fisher stood rooted to the spot as he stared at his closed front door for longer than he probably should have, and then let out a frustrated growl as he thrust his hands back into his hair.

"What was that?" he hissed, glancing around and realising that he was completely lost in his own living room. Ignoring the mess, he detoured past the kitchen for another beer before shuffling down the hallway to his bedroom, where he couldn't help but roll his eyes as he found a wet towel flung across his bed.

"Lord help me, woman," he murmured, pushing the towel to the floor as he flung himself down on the bed, taking a long draw from his beer. He couldn't help but notice that his hand was still twitching, and he blew out a frustrated breath. Camille had set his mind spinning into overdrive, and Fisher could already tell that there would be little chance of him sleeping through the night, not while the memory of her fingertips against his chest, and the closeness of her lips to his, dominated his every thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Fisher had needed to swing past his actual office to pick up some files related to their latest stitch, but the detour meant that he was late arriving at the lab. Finding the staging area practically deserted, Fisher reasoned that the rest of the group must already be gathered in the conference room, and therefore headed in that direction. Stepping quickly down the back walkway, Fisher was just about to open the conference room door when he heard Linus ask a very pointed question.

"So what exactly is the deal with you and Fisher?" the communications expert asked.

"What do you mean, deal?" Camille's response was nonchalant, and Fisher imagined her raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"Don't act like you don't know what he's talking about," Cameron chimed in, his chair creaking as he adjusted his position. "Tall, dark and broody has been staring you down all week."

"Don't be ridiculous," Camille drawled snidely, and Fisher grinned to himself as he pictured the sneer on her face. Cameron was right of course; Fisher had been unable to keep himself from watching Camille whenever she was around, and he knew it wasn't subtle, but he didn't even care. He'd even taken to getting as close to her as possible when he could; dragging his hand along the back of any chair she occupied, and leaning over her shoulder to read from her tablet when the opportunity arose. If Fisher didn't know her any better, he'd have sworn he wasn't getting a reaction, but he'd learned all of her little idiosyncrasies, so he could now pick when something was out of the ordinary. He'd caught her sharp intake of breath the first time his face had come inches from her own, and he'd watched with satisfaction as a blush had settled on her cheeks when their eyes had met across the room. They'd barely said a word to each other since that night at his house, but the silence between them spoke volumes.

"You're the ridiculous one," Kirsten spoke up, her mouth obviously full of food. "Get off the denial train."

"That's rich, coming from you," Camille shot back.

"Waiting for someone?"

Fisher jumped a mile at the sound of Maggie's voice, and he turned with a sheepish look on his face to find her staring at him with an expectant expression on her face.

"Thought you might want the door opened for you," he murmured vaguely, and Maggie rolled her eyes at him as she strode past him and into the conference room. Fisher quickly followed, and as the group of four already in the room rearranged themselves into more attentive positions, Fisher sank into the vacant chair closest to Camille, and watched her out of the corner of his eye until he saw her glance his way. No one else saw it, but her upper lip twitched in the beginnings of an amused smile. Sliding his files across the table to Maggie as she started to launch into her analysis, Fisher took the opportunity to move his chair closer to Camille's, so his knee pressed up against hers. Camille straightened her back slightly at the move, but made no attempt to break their contact. Fisher barely heard the rest of the conversation, concentrating only on the warmth of her leg against his, and the only reason he knew the meeting had come to an end was when Kirsten, Linus and Cameron suddenly rose from the table and left the room while Maggie called out a warning as she brought up the rear. Fisher caught the tail end of an argument about hydroponic plants as he glanced towards Camille, who wrinkled her nose at him as she gave him a shy smile.

"You catch any of that at all, Fishy?" she murmured teasingly, and Fisher felt the corner of his mouth curl into a bashful grin as he hung his head for a moment.

"Maybe you can bring me up to speed tonight," he offered, looking up into her liquid chocolate eyes. "Workout at my place?"

Camille blew out a soft breath as she grimaced.

"I don't really feel like working out tonight," she said slowly, and Fisher felt his heart sink a little as he pushed his chair back slightly.

"Oh... well," he murmured, making to stand up as he avoided her gaze.

"I could handle dinner though," Camille stated. Fisher stopped short, and he blinked at her slowly as he rose to his feet.

"Right," he finally managed to spit out. Camille grinned lazily as she stood up.

"I'll bring the food, if you have the beer waiting," she smiled. "I'll see you at eight?"

"Eight," Fisher confirmed, swallowing hard as he tried to bring his heartbeat back under control. Camille grinned at him again, and Fisher swore he heard a little laugh under her breath as she left the room. Shaking his head in attempt to clear the sudden buzzing in his ears, Fisher had to admit to himself that he'd just been bested at his own game, and damn it to hell if it didn't make him want her even more than he already did.


	3. Chapter 3

When the doorbell rang at exactly eight o'clock that night, Fisher had to physically stop himself from running full pelt to answer it. He slowly rose from the couch, punched a cushion back into place, and took a small swig from his beer bottle before placing it on the coffee table, and then padded to the front door.

"Engelson..."

The last syllable of her name died on his lips as Fisher took in the sight in front of him. Camille smirked flirtatiously at him as she leaned against the doorframe.

"Hey, Fishy," she drawled, holding out the pizza box she held as she ran her free hand through her tousled hair. "Hungry?"

Fisher reached out and wordlessly took the pizza from her hand, dropping it indelicately on the arm of the couch as he continued to take in every inch of the woman in front of him. She was clad in the denim cut-offs and his business shirt from their previous encounter, and once again, he could barely breathe at the sight of her. The look on Camille's face told him that his reaction was exactly what she was expecting. She slipped in through the doorway and closed the door behind her as Fisher took a few steps back to accommodate her.

"I left my phone at home tonight," Camille informed the detective. "I'm off duty. Kirsten and Cameron can figure themselves out."

Fisher chuckled as he felt himself relax slightly, and a genuine smile crept over Camille's features, accompanied by a hint of a blush. She took a small step forward.

"Take off your shirt," she murmured, and Fisher blinked at her in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Camille said plainly, and ignoring the way his heartbeat sped up, Fisher lifted his arms and yanked the mottled grey V-neck he was wearing over his head and tossed it to the floor.

"Better?" he rasped, and Camille made an affirmative noise as she stepped closer to him again, so that they were only inches apart. Deliberately avoiding Fisher's eyes, she reached forward and placed her fingers on one of his scars.

"What does it feel like?" Camille whispered, tracing her fingertips lightly over the scarred area. Fisher swallowed hard as he looked down at her, but Camille's eyes remained focused on his chest.

"Like fire is ripping through you," he murmured, his voice catching in his throat. "It burns, and then it's like all of the oxygen's been sucked out of the room, and you can't catch your breath no matter how hard you try."

Camille finally lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes burning with the kind of desire Fisher had been dreaming about all week long.

"Fisher," Camille whispered, her voice raspy, "I can't catch my breath."

"I think I can help with that," Fisher rumbled back, and finally, he put his hands on her, cupping her face as he drew her into the kiss they'd clearly both been anticipating. It was soft and chaste, their noses pressed together as they melted into each other's touch, but there was an immeasurable intensity to the motion that neither of them could deny. When they finally, reluctantly, broke apart, they both exhaled loudly, and Fisher stroked a thumb across Camille's flushed cheek.

"Wow," Camille breathed, her eyes sparkling. The corner of Fisher's mouth twitched upward.

"Pizza's going to get cold," he commented, and Camille smirked at him.

"The great thing about pizza is that it reheats really well," she grinned coyly, reaching up to link her wrists behind Fisher's neck as she placed her lips on his again. This time, the kiss took on a more fevered edge, their tongues waging war even as Fisher let out a rumbling groan against Camille's mouth. Fisher tangled his fingers in her hair, and Camille took the opportunity to hoist herself onto his body, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. Trailing his hands down her back, Fisher gripped her thighs as he helped support her weight. Camille buried her face in Fisher's neck for a moment before gently taking Fisher's earlobe between her teeth. Fisher practically saw stars at the sensation of her breath in his ear, but before he could think, her mouth was back on his. Even as the brunette nipped at his lower lip, Fisher rotated slightly and then by memory alone navigated them down the hallway and into his bedroom, where he delicately deposited Camille onto the bed. Camille gave him her best come hither eyes as she scooted backwards towards the headboard, her hands already working at the knot that tied her shirt together. She was everything Fisher had been dreaming about, and it was with great reluctance that he reached out to cover her hand with his own, stilling her fingers. Camille gave him a confused look.

"What gives, Fish?"

Fisher gritted his teeth for a moment before he spoke.

"Camille, I've been through a couple of messed up relationships," he stated gently, "but the thing is, I'm not really a one night stand kind of guy. If we do this, I need you to know... I'm invested. I'm not playing around."

He watched as Camille blinked at him for a moment, and then her features settled into an amused smile.

"Fisher, I have dedicated my every spare moment of the last few months to wearing you down," she quipped. "You really think I'd spend all that time just for a one night thing?"

It took Fisher a moment to process her words, but once he did, he barely hesitated in lunging forward to snare her lips with his own. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over so that she perched on top of him. Together they made light work of the shirt she wore, and it was tossed quickly to the floor, revealing a red lacy bra that made Fisher's breath catch in his throat. He ran his hands appreciatively over the exposed planes of Camille's stomach. Now that he could, he wanted to touch every single part of her. Camille hooked her fingers into the belt loops of Fisher's jeans even as she leaned forward to kiss him again, and Fisher slid his hands further south so that he could curl his fingers under the ragged hemline of Camille's shorts. He had a whole new appreciation for the denim cut-offs that had spent so long hidden in the back of the closet. Fisher absently noted that both he and Camille were emitting tiny whimpers as they kissed, gasping for breath even as their hands roamed everywhere they could. Everywhere Camille's fingers touched felt like she was leaving a trail of fire in her wake, but this time it was the kind of burn that Fisher welcomed, and as long as Camille was to blame, he'd be happy to fight for every breath she stole away.

* * *

By the time they were done, they were both breathing like they were searching for any ounce of oxygen they could get. Falling back against his pillows, Fisher linked his fingers behind his head and then smiled to himself as Camille stretched out beside him, resting her chin on her hands. She had hair plastered to her forehead, and Fisher chuckled as he reached out and pushed the wayward strands off of her face, and then trailed his fingers down her cheek. Camille screwed her nose up at him as she smirked.

"You know Fishy, if I knew that's what you were capable of, I would have pushed for this much sooner," she quipped. Fisher rolled his eyes at her as he continued to trace his fingertips across her skin. He honestly could not get enough of touching her, and he was thankful that Camille didn't seem to mind. She reached out and ghosted her fingers over the light dusting of hair on his chest, and then smiled shyly at him.

"Did you really mean what you said?" she asked, her big brown eyes studying him cautiously. "No messing around?"

Fisher cupped her cheek in his hand, and Camille leaned into his touch.

"I'm too old to be playing games anymore, Engelson," he told her. "You... you're nothing like I thought, but at the same time, you're everything I need."

"It's crazy, but I understand what you're saying," Camille murmured back. "You're nothing like any of the guys I usually go for, but together, you and I, we're..."

"Just like fire," Fisher finished, his voice raspy. He'd felt it too, from the moment they'd first kissed; it was like an explosion went off with every touch, and he couldn't get enough of the adrenaline that fired through his veins every time his eyes met hers.

"Yeah," Camille smiled bashfully, tracing patterns on the sheets in front of her. Fisher beckoned her forward with a tilt of his chin, and Camille crawled slightly up the bed before rolling onto her side and resting her head on Fisher's shoulder. He couldn't help but lean forward to kiss her again, and Camille responded, their kisses quickly progressing from soft and gentle to fevered and hungry. Fisher manoeuvred himself so that he pinned her body underneath his, his large frame dominating over hers. Camille gave him a languid smile as she arched her hips up to meet his, and Fisher felt his breathing start to grow shallow.

"Baby, you are going to be the end of me," he murmured, and Camille reached up to tangle her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Together we burn," she whispered, and Fisher had to admit, it was an offer he couldn't refuse, so he simply silenced her with another kiss, and let the fire that raged between them consume them both.


End file.
